


You, Me, And The Wardens Across The Hall

by Chapeau_42



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Gen, I Guess You Could Say It's Fluff, Too Many Coincidences, friends support each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 10:55:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16973277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chapeau_42/pseuds/Chapeau_42
Summary: It's Eragon's first day in his new home, at his new school, living with two strangers from his hometown. After helping his parents - professional detectives - capture a dangerous criminal in the spring, he's ready to begin a new chapter of his life. It's time for him to make new friends, and his new roommates will never know what hit them.





	1. Keys

“It’s really happening,” said Roran, staring out the window, starry-eyed. “I haven’t seen traffic this bad since my own move-in day. I swear, I’m getting chills. It’s been years!” He shook his head. “Man, residence parking lots are just the worst.”

“Please stop talking, Roran,” growled Garrow from the driver’s seat. “It’s hard enough navigating through all these cars without you yammering on about it.”

“Sorry,” replied Roran, sheepishly. “Seriously, though, this is taking forever. I think it’s time that our man of the hour went and got his keys.” He contorted himself in his chair to face his cousin in the seat behind him. “That’s you.”

Eragon squirmed under his cousin’s gaze. Uncomfortably, he ventured: “…Are you sure? I mean, with all of these people around, surely it’s best if we stick together, and then I’ll definitely be able to see you again before you leave me here, and—”

“Eragon,” Roran interrupted, “calm down. It’s not like we’re going back home without ditching this mountain of boxes.” He sighed dramatically. “And, well, I suppose we might have the time to see you off as well. In all seriousness, though, we’ll be here forever if the line at the residence desk is anything like the line out here. And you’re not going to get lost! There are signs everywhere. You’ll have to be trying pretty damn hard if you want to miss it.”

Taking a deep breath, Eragon sighed. “Fine.”

“Wait,” said Garrow. “What building are you in?”

“I know it’s in that cluster over there, but the room number… I don’t know yet. They should tell me when they give me my keys.”

“Remember to text Roran so we know where to go.”

“Of course.”

Eragon stepped out onto the street. Every car around them was stopped. He crossed the remainder of the road, scanned his surroundings, and set off towards what looked to be the central hub of the residence complex that was to be his new home.

Sure enough, his path was very well-labelled, and before long, Eragon found himself standing opposite an elderly-looking man seated behind a folding table, wearing a brightly-coloured shirt and a lanyard as he looked up Eragon’s details in an enormous, bulging binder. Eragon didn’t know what to make of the man’s nametag – it simply read “J”. The man spoke slowly. “Did you register for residence as part of a group, or as an individual?”

Intimidated by the mass of people around him, Eragon fidgeted. He faltered. “Uh… sorry. What do you mean?”

“Are you living with friends or strangers?”

“Strangers,” confirmed Eragon. “I’m living with two strangers.”

“Right.” The man leaned over, picked up a second binder from the floor, and placed it weightily on the table, which shook a little under the stress. He began leafing through the binder – which appeared to somehow be larger than the first – fingering the many coloured dividers. Eragon felt just about ready to melt into the floor when the man pulled out highlighter, pausing with his finger on the page. “Here we are.” He marked his arrival in the great tome, and after a blessedly short search through the filing cabinet behind him, produced an envelope containing his keys. “There you go, son. You’re in East 2, in Suite 307, Room 1.”

“Um… what…? What’s East 2?”

“It’s your quad.” Reading from Eragon’s face that this did not help, he added, “Your building? That one over there.”

“Oh.” Eragon craned his neck to see the building the man was pointing to out the window. “Thank you.”

After being informed by his cousin that reaching East 2 would take the car approximately “seven billion hours”, navigating the maze that constituted the space between quads, climbing entirely too many stairs, and fumbling with his unlabeled keys (the front door key was the first one he had tried, of course, but it had only worked after he tried every last one – typical), Eragon stepped into a dimly lit kitchen. The cupboards looked about fifty years old, but the counter looked functional, and the double sinks looked clean and big. There was a large table in the middle of the room, and judging by the state of the floor around it, it was just as heavy as it looked. It was surrounded by a collection of sturdy-looking chairs, and positioned against the far wall was a pair of sofas. Eragon strode across the room and pulled open the blinds that were covering the windows. He turned around, examining the room in the new light.

He could work with this.

Next, Eragon peered down the narrow hallway on the other side of the kitchen. He saw four doors. The one next to him led to a cramped washroom. The remaining three doors were numbered, and Eragon saw that only one was open. He proceeded down the hallway.

Passing his door - number one - Eragon stopped at the already-open door number two. Looking inside, he saw a bare bedroom containing a sparse collection of items, decidedly unlike his belongings that were still in the car. He counted the objects in front of him, neatly positioned against the wall: one large suitcase, one backpack, two average-sized cardboard boxes, and a pair of oddly-shaped cases that could only be for some kind of specialized equipment. One looked like it held a stringed instrument – maybe a violin – but the other one Eragon couldn’t place, though it did look athletic. Finally, the large desk was empty save for an envelope of keys, like Eragon’s, a pair of black gloves, and a motorbike helmet. A weathered leather jacket hung on the chair nearby.

Turning his gaze to the back wall, Eragon saw a young man sitting on the bed, in front of the window. He didn’t appear to have noticed Eragon’s arrival, as he was thoroughly preoccupied by the book in his hands. Afraid to cause a disturbance, Eragon knocked softly on the open door.

Quick as a cat, the man’s gaze snapped to the doorway. His tense posture relaxed somewhat once he saw Eragon smiling weakly and waving from the hall. He set his book down on the windowsill, next to a steaming mug. He returned Eragon’s greeting. “Hey.”

“Hi…” Eragon faltered. How was he supposed to announce himself to a complete stranger? Although they would be living together for the entire school year, and their assignment to the same suite meant they were automatically some sort of friends, there was a distance between them in this moment that Eragon couldn’t figure out how to bridge. After a long, awkward pause, he settled for the only introduction his mind could conjure: “I’m Eragon.”

The other man nodded in acknowledgement. “Murtagh,” he replied. The introduction was terse, but not unfriendly.

“I, uh… live here, now.”

“I should hope so.”

“Like you.”

“Yes. Like me.”

Eragon pointed over his shoulder. “I’m in room number one, right there. You’re in room number two?”

Murtagh glanced quickly between Eragon, the number on the door he was leaning on, and back again. Slowly, and with a note of concern in his voice, he replied, “…That’s correct. Yes.”

Embarrassed, Eragon reddened. “Sorry. I’m just a bit nervous, what with this being the first day and all. I don’t want to come off the wrong way to all of my new friends, you know?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Honestly, I’m a little nervous myself.”

Comforted, Eragon decided to push onwards. “So… where are you from?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Murtgh answered. “I’m from this city called Alagaesia. It’s a few hours’ drive from here.”

“Alagaesia?”

“Yes, I know the name is weird.”

“What? No! That’s amazing, I live there too!”

“Really? Where did you study?”

“Palancar High. You?”

“Capital Collegiate.” Murtagh laughed. “So, Palancar, huh… Do you live on a farm or something?”

“Hah, you guessed it. It turns out that all the manual labour really helps with—” Eragon was interrupted by the buzzing phone in his pocket. Apparently seven billion hours could really fly by. “Ah, shoot. I need to go, my family’s finally made it to the parking lot. I’ll be seeing you soon, though, and it was nice meeting you!”

“Likewise. I’ll be sure to stay out of your way.”

Eragon found his uncle standing outside the car, which was parked next to a bright red motorcycle. Roran was opening the trunk and lamenting that all of the hard work he had put into stacking the boxes just right would soon be undone.

Garrow noticed his nephew’s approach. “You find everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything was fine.” Eragon considered. “But you would not believe the setup they had at the key desk.”

“Were you the first one there?”

“At the key desk? It’s the middle of the afternoon! Do you have any idea how early the keenest kids get here?”

“Not at the desk, in your room!”

“Oh, right,” Eragon replied sheepishly, “uh, one guy was already there, but I don’t think the other one’s shown up yet.”

“Hm. And which of your friends did you say you were rooming with, again?” Garrow inquired.

Eragon sighed. They’d been over this a thousand times. He spoke slowly and loudly, hoping that would somehow finalize his uncle’s understanding of his situation. “I’m not rooming with any friends. I’m in a three-person suite with roommates I’ve never met. The guy in there seems, uh… nice enough, I guess? He’s from Alagaesia too, actually, but a different school, so I don’t know him.”

Garrow acknowledged Eragon’s explanation. The ensuing silence was broken a moment later by Roran. “Are you guys gonna help me carry these boxes, or am I moving all of your crap on my own?” He looked Eragon in the eyes. “If it’s the second option, I’m afraid I’ll have to call dibs on your—”

Shoving his cousin playfully, Eragon sprung into action. “No need to go down that rabbit hole, Roran! Let’s go climb some stairs.”


	2. The Drop-Off

After working for a good while and climbing entirely too many stairs, the car had finally been emptied. Suite 307 was looking considerably less barren, and the boxes were reasonably organized by location. Garrow insisted on taking his son and nephew out for “one last meal”, as though something cataclysmic was about to happen, something that would forever shift their family dynamic.

“Uncle Garrow, it’s just school,” Eragon stated, confused. “It’s not like I’ll be getting a personality transplant or anything.”

“It’s a new chapter of your life, Eragon,” Garrow replied, “and you never know what that might bring.”

“Roran went to school and he barely changed at all!”

“Roran went to school in town, choosing his path carefully to support the family farm. He didn’t even properly move out! This is hardly the same thing!”

The discussion continued throughout the meal and into the evening as they returned to Eragon’s new quad. In the meantime, it had become much more of a happening place – the folks from Suite 308 across the hall had arrived, and the three of them appeared to all be moving in as one unit. Through the open door, Eragon saw the endless stream of boxes diverge into three separate endpoints. Judging from what he could hear of their conversation, his new neighbours already knew each other quite well. Their door bore a sign, clearly prepared well in advance, listing their names: Nasuada, Jörmundur, and Orrin. Eragon made a note to greet them later - they seemed like a lively bunch.

Eragon’s own suite was busier now, as well. Suite 307’s third and final tenant had officially arrived, and they appeared to have just finished bringing their things into the apartment. Judging from what Eragon could see through her doorway at the end of the hall, they had brought a fair number of boxes with them, though not as many as he had himself. Glancing around the common area, he noticed that every one of the boxes there were still his. Had they brought that many things for only themselves?

Suddenly, Eragon heard someone call to him, “Hey, you’re back!”

Startled, Eragon searched for the source of the voice. He eventually realized it belonged to Murtagh, who had migrated to one of the couches in the common area. How had he failed to see him during his assessment of the boxes? “How long have you been sitting there?”

“I didn’t teleport here in the last five seconds, if that’s what you’re worried about,” snapped Murtagh. Almost immediately, he seemed to become aware of both the surprise in the tone of Eragon’s question, and the aggression in his own response. His grip on the book in his hands tightened. “Sorry,” Murtagh apologized, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

With the moment over, Eragon waved the issue away. “Don’t worry about it. I just didn’t see you, is all.” Adopting a more humorous tone, he added, “Now that I know of your mastery of all things stealthy, I’ll be much more able to find you in the future.”

Murtagh chuckled. “Sure, you will.”

Just then, Roran and Garrow walked into the suite, as they finished their fleeting introduction to the neighbours. Turning his attention to Eragon’s suite, Roran asked, “Oh, who’s this now?”

“Hey Roran, this is my new roommate! He’s—” Eragon faltered, interrupted by the sound of a slamming door, followed by a pair of voices emanating from room number three. Eragon guessed that his new roommate – a girl, by the sounds of things – and her mother were having an argument, but that was the most he could discern from all the muffled shouting on the other side of the door.

The four men in the common area were all frozen, listening, peering down the darkened hallway as they listened intently to an argument none of them could follow. After a minute, the two participants emerged from the room. The older woman strode towards the door with purpose. Trailing behind her was a girl who looked to be about Eragon’s age. Suddenly, the girl growled and resumed shouting. “For the last time, Mom, I need some actual space to breathe! Whether you believe it or not, I can take care of myself!”

The woman swung around to face her daughter. “Your ‘experience’ with that man –” she spat the word as though it were a lump of filth “—suggests otherwise, young lady!”

The girl replied, palpable frustration filling her voice. “But that was months ago. Months!” Gesturing wildly, she continued, “It’s hardly as though people like him are common! But even if they were, you know I’m ready this time.”

“Hmph. Don’t be presumptuous. You shouldn’t over-estimate your own abilities so often.” Straightening, her tone became calmer and more business-like. Eragon wasn’t sure if this made it better or worse. “I’ll be returning on the twelfth, and things had better be satisfactory around here when I do. If not—”

“I know,” the girl replied, cutting off her mother, “it’s back to Alagaesia to study from home.”

“Don’t interrupt me.” The woman eyed her daughter keenly. “Goodbye, Arya.” She turned on her heel and left.

Arya stood still for a long moment, rooted to the spot. Eventually, she made her way to the far end of the unoccupied couch, and sat down slowly and stiffly, fuming.

After a few more seconds, Garrow spoke up, breaking the tension. “It’s about time your cousin and I got going as well, Eragon. Take care, and don’t forget to call.”

Roran hugged Eragon tightly. “And don’t forget to tell us if you’re going to come crying home after the first week, ‘kay? We’ll give you a ride, no problem.” He grinned and punched Eragon in the arm playfully. “Anything for our dear Shadeslayer!”

Eragon locked the door behind them, and sat down at the kitchen table, facing the couches where his roommates were seated. Murtagh was eyeing him strangely, and Arya’s anger seemed to have been offset by surprise. Glancing between them, Eragon asked, “What?”

Murtagh spoke up first. “What’s that supposed to mean, ‘Shadeslayer’?”

Eragon sighed. He hadn’t wanted to get into this on day one. In fact, he would be perfectly happy if they never got into it at all, but considering the events of the previous spring, he knew the discussion was inevitable. “Right, so, uh… We’re all from Alagaesia here, right?” After a few seconds, Eragon decided they probably weren’t going to disagree. He continued. “You guys remember that kidnapper who made headlines a bunch last year?”

Murtagh scoffed. Arya replied somberly, “The guy they called ‘The Shade’? Of course. I wouldn’t be able to forget about him if I tried.”

“Sorry, yes, of course, I didn’t mean to—” Eragon shook himself, trying to clear his head. “Anyway… the short version is, my parents are detectives – they’re on assignment right now, otherwise they would have help me here today – and it’s thanks to me that they finally caught him.” There was a long, awkward silence. “They weren’t responsible for the actual conviction, that was someone else,” mumbled Eragon, weakly.

Eragon’s roommates looked placated, but only barely. “So…” Murtagh replied, clarifying, “The Shade’s gone, behind bars – one could say the beast has been slain, so to speak – and so people say there’s a ‘Shadeslayer’? And the Shadeslayer is you?” Seeing Eragon’s nod, he grumbled, “Who the hell comes up with these nicknames?”

“I didn’t see anything about this in the press,” interjected Arya. “I’ve not heard a single word about a so-called ‘Shadeslayer’. And I’ve been paying close attention.”

“Well, that particular detail was largely limited to my own household…” Eragon felt himself reddening. He squirmed under his roommates’ analytical gaze. “We felt it would be safest if our names weren’t released to the general public, and the whole ‘Shadeslayer’ thing was a very… local issue. It was almost a sort of in-joke after a while.” Finally at his breaking point, Eragon asked, “Can we please talk about something else? I wanted to avoid calling attention to this mess at all, but it’s a bit late for that… If we have to keep going, can we at least pick this up later?”

For a few moments, nobody spoke. Arya seemed agitated, but she remained stiff as she sat. Murtagh was more withdrawn, but he still looked to be deep in thought. Belatedly, Murtagh said, “Yeah, of course we can tackle it later.” He cracked a small smile. “This is a bit of an odd foot to start off on, isn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Arya chimed in. Emerging from her haze, she suggested, “How about we take a bit of time to unpack? It’s getting pretty late, and we need to sleep somewhere.”

“Good plan,” agreed Murtagh. “I’m doing a grocery run early tomorrow morning – yes I have a motorbike in the parking lot, no you may not touch it – so, I could make us breakfast,” he suggested. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to eat?”

Eragon was immediately filled with immense excitement. Trying to play it cool, Eragon asked quietly, “Can we do waffles?”

“That depends. Did you bring a waffle iron?”

“Did I bring a—” started Eragon, “Of course I brought a waffle iron! What kind of—”

“Then it’s settled!” interrupted Arya. “I look forward to meeting you both tomorrow.”


	3. Introductions

Orientation week went by in a blur. Through the sensory overload of each successive tour, tutorial, and bonding exercise, Eragon’s understanding of campus geography went from wildly inconsistent to, remarkably, halfway reliable. The endless activities had him exhausted beyond belief, but he was nonetheless becoming comfortable and confident in his new home. He smiled as he made his way back to East 2. He almost managed to climb all of the stairs without getting winded – a new personal best!

Closing the door quietly behind him, Eragon kicked off his shoes, nearly knocking over the pair that was already positioned neatly next to the door. Eragon paused. He was usually the first one home. As if on cue, Eragon heard Murtagh’s voice emanating from his bedroom. It sounded as though he was just at the end of a phone call.

“…but yeah, like I said, it’s been really good here so far. You don’t need to worry so much.” A pause. “Yes, of course I’ll let you know if he tries something. You’d better do the same, though. I think we can agree he’s definitely got something going on.” A longer pause. Eragon thought he heard a drawn-out sigh. “Yeah. I know.” Finally, “I love you, too. Bye.”

After waiting a few moments to keep from revealing his eavesdropping, Eragon walked the few steps to his room and changed into fresh clothes. The final day of orientation had been exhausting, and he wanted to relax properly. He took extra care to put on his favourite sweater – with the words “Palancar Pirates” emblazoned on the front, it was a keepsake from his high school hockey team – as the temperature had taken a temporary but dramatic drop over the last few days.

Re-emerging to find Murtagh in the kitchen, standing by the kettle, Eragon sat down on the nearer of the two couches. He noticed that Murtagh had taken a similar approach to dealing with the cold – his hoodie advertised his affiliation with the Capital Kings, and had the word “Archery” embroidered on one sleeve.

“Making coffee?” Eragon inquired.

Murtagh eyed him skeptically. “Do you really need to ask?”

“Hmm.” Eragon paused. “Gonna head to the caf for dinner tonight?”

“What? No. Arya’s cooking tonight, like we said on Tuesday. She wrote it into her calendar and everything, remember?”

“Oh. Right.” Eragon paused. “But I’m hungry now. Where is she?”

“Doesn’t matter. She hasn’t missed anything on her schedule yet, I hardly think this’ll be any different.”

Silence returned between them. Just as the kettle boiled, there was a knock at the front door.

Eragon answered it to find a girl with a boy hovering at her shoulder. They too were wearing hoodies from their high school sports days – theirs simply read “Wardens” in large, blocky font. Seeing she had Eragon’s attention, the girl spoke.

“Hello! My name is Nasuada, and this is my friend Jörmundur. We live across the hall. You’ve seen our sign?”

Despite all of the practice he had gone through that week, Eragon still managed to stumble over his introduction. “Yes, hi, it’s nice to meet you, I’m your neighbour… here.” He pointed at the threshold of the doorway, as though where “here” was somehow needed indicating. He paused, taking a deep breath. “My name’s Eragon.”

Nasuada delayed her answer just long enough for Eragon to know she had fully observed his awkwardness. “It’s nice to meet you too, Eragon. Jörmundur and I were wondering if we might borrow your kitchen for a bit. We would use ours, but it appears that Orrin has, erm… broken the sink.” She pinched her nose, adding quietly. “Again. Somehow.” Her orderly demeanor returning, she addressed Eragon once more. “Don’t worry, he’ll have it fixed in a few hours, and we’re not letting him anywhere near yours. We’ve got our own food and our own dishes, but we’d like to borrow your appliances. What do you say?”

“Uh… sure. That should be fine.”

“Great! We’ll be right back with our things.”

Once the door was closed once more, Murtagh spoke up. “What about Arya? Surely she’ll want to unrestricted kitchen access when she gets back.”

Eragon waved him off. “We’re just doing the neighbours a favour, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“I don’t know about that. She seems a little, you know… rigid.”

Eragon shrugged in response as their two new guests returned. Jörmundur was carrying a large pot full of a colourful variety of vegetables, and Eragon followed Murtagh’s intrigued gaze to what Nasuada was holding: several distinctly-shaped kitchen knives and a cutting board to use them with.

“That’s a lot of knives,” said Eragon. His gaze shifting to Nasuada herself, he asked, “Why so many?”

As Jörmundur left to fetch another load of supplies, Nasuada looked at Eragon and shook her head, pitying his inexperience. “Eragon. Please. You can’t very well expect me to use the same knife for everything, and if I’m going to be using multiple, you had better believe I’ll be choosing wisely.”

“What, you mean you have even more knives at your place?” asked Murtagh from across the room.

“Well, yes. Plenty more. I’m hardly a novice.”

“With knives or with cooking? Because most cooks don’t need that many.”

Changing the subject, Nasuada asked, “What’s your name, anyway? I don’t think we’ve met.”

“I’m Murtagh.” He turned to stare jokingly at Eragon as he pointed to the ground and added, “I live here.”

Nasuada chuckled. Noticing the writing on Murtagh’s sweater, she asked, “Archery, huh? Are you joining the team here?”

Murtagh laughed. “No. I doubt they’d let me in if I tried, though. They kicked me out of the league last year.”

“Really? What for?”

Sensing that he had spoken his way into a corner, Murtagh seemed to become agitated for a moment. But the moment passed, and he sighed, resigned to his fate. “I, uh… Apparently they get really mad at you if you shoot someone.” Trying to play it cool, he jokingly added, “Who knew, right?” Holding his hand up to cut off Nasuada’s surprised reply, he continued. “I expected them to let it slide somewhat, considering the circumstances – as if any reasonable person in that situation would have acted differently – but, uh… apparently they didn’t.” Done talking, Murtagh took a sip from his mug. He grimaced, and muttered quietly to himself, “Instant was a mistake.”

“Huh,” said Nasuada, caught off-guard by the story, “that sounds like a real incident.”

“Tell me about it.”

The conversation continued as Nasuada and Jörmundur began cooking. Murtagh would help out here and there, and Eragon had parked himself in the farthest seat from the cooking area – not that there was far to go in a room this size – he didn’t want to miss out on the discussion, but he was trying very hard to keep out of everyone’s way.

Eventually, the door opened once more. Arya had finally returned, and she had brought with a smaller boy. Their colourful matching headbands indicated that they belonged to the same first-year orientation group. Seeing the action in the kitchen, Arya paused, surprised. “I thought I was supposed to be cooking tonight.” She looked at her roommates. “That was the plan, wasn’t it? You should have told me if you were changing it. And who are these people?”

Eragon realized that Murtagh had been correct earlier – it was going to take more than a handwave to get Arya to agree with this development. She didn’t seem to be taking well at all to the change in plans. Eragon walked over to her, trying to smooth things over. “Hey, Arya! It’s good to see you’re back. These are our neighbours, Nasauda and Jörmundur, they live across the hall with their friend Orrin. Who’s this with you now?”

“Oh, this here is Orik. He’s from my orientation group, and he’s an Anthropology major, like you.”

“Hey there!” said Orik. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Lowering her voice a little, Arya said, “You seemed really worried about not finding anyone else with your major this week.”

“Oh,” said Eragon, taken aback, “thank you. Really. It means a lot.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Just then, Nasuada walked over to speak with Arya. “Hi! I’m Nasuada, like Eragon said. I didn’t realize we were causing such a disruption for you.” Her eyes acquired a conspiratorial glint. “I’d like to make it up to you. I’ll tell you what – it’d be really easy for us to increase the amount of food we’re making here. How would you feel if we made dinner for everybody in our two apartments, plus your guest, we all sat down and ate it together, and Jörmundur and I make sure your place is spotless before we go?”

Arya considered. Eragon could almost see her weighing out costs and benefits. After a brief moment’s hesitation, she concluded, “That should work nicely. Let’s do it!”

Various small conversations began while the dinner was still cooking. Eragon was happily introducing himself to Orik, thrilled to have finally met one of his classmates. Everyone was relaxed and happy, looking forward to the food, and excited by the adventure of sharing it. Eventually, Orrin arrived, looking quite dishevelled, and he was met with a warm welcome. When dinner was finally prepared, enough dishes for everyone had been located, and everyone had sat down at the big, heavy dinner table, the conversation turned to the subject of academic majors and reasons for being at school. Everyone shared their story as they went around the table.

Eragon was an Anthropology major, as despite his nervousness at doing so, he enjoyed meeting people, but at the same time he didn’t quite understand them. He dreamed of one day being some sort of liaison between communities, maybe a manager of some small-scale local groups. He was also taking some electives that would eventually lead him to a Linguistics minor, if he liked them.

Orik’s goals for his own Anthropology major were similar to Eragon’s – settle down in the community he had grown up in, and make sure it was well-run and welcoming. He was accustomed to seeing a certain level of intolerance there, and he was determined to see it eliminated.

Arya was double-majoring in Political Science – PoliSci, for short – and Psychology. Her busy public school career, organized by her mother, had prepared her well for this, but Arya planned to use it all as an opportunity to finally get herself some space. She greatly resented that all of the tools she was using were the ones her mother had forced on her, but she knew they gave her the best chance at establishing herself. 

Jörmundur – or Jordy, as his friends were in the habit of calling him – was a Civil Engineering major. He was a smart, hard-working person, and he was passionate about quality infrastructure, so it had struck him as both a responsible choice and an interesting one. He was thankful that his living arrangements allowed him to keep in contact with his best friends, who were more than happy to have him around, and even happier to have his skills as a repairman readily available.

Orrin, a Chemistry major, was a frazzled but easy-going fellow. He generally limited his tinkering to strictly academic settings, but every now and again he would try something in “real life”. Occasionally, it would work, maybe even be one of the rare helpful successes, but it usually just ended up causing some sort of disaster, like the incident that evening with the kitchen sink.

Nasuada was majoring in Legal Studies and minoring in Philosophy, with the goal of later attending law school. She admired her father and his law career, and aimed to help people just as he did. She had a take-charge approach to life and constantly kept her eyes open for opportunities, meaning that she immediately took notice that her program meant that she shared some classes with Arya and Murtagh, and she made sure they knew they would be spending a lot of study time together.

Murtagh didn’t have much of a destination in mind, but he more than made up for it with impressive level of drive. He was doing a Philosophy major with a PoliSci minor, but his primary motivation behind going to school was neither learning nor career preparation – this was simply his only opportunity to be rid of his uncle. His uncle was a lawyer, a nasty one, and had been Murtagh’s legal guardian since his father’s arrest. When they had finally agreed to keep away from Murtagh if Murtagh got his degree, Murtagh had immediately set himself up for an extra year of high school to prepare. He would not be losing this game.

When the meal had ended and the discussion was over, the food was put away and the dishes had been washed, the group disbanded for the night. Everyone slept well that night, knowing they had made many good friends that evening.


	4. Icebreakers

Eragon walked into his apartment, closing the door noisily behind him. The first few weeks of classes had gone well, but his busy schedule was beginning to take its toll. “Good grief,” he groaned, “how can one day contain so much lecture? It’s exhausting!”

His declaration was met by a chorus of noncommittal hums from the trio at the dinner table. Murtagh, Arya, and Nasuada were there, working on homework that looked to be from the PoliSci course they all shared. True to form, there was a mug of coffee next to Murtagh’s notebook, Arya’s hands were wrapped around her favourite tea mug, and Nasuada’s water bottle was stood up on the floor, next to her bag.

Eragon sighed. “Guys. I can barely see the table under all that paper. How long have you been working here?”

“Since we got home—” Arya checked her watch “—about three and a half hours ago. I guess we’ve had a pretty busy day, too.”

“Hey,” joked Nasuada, keeping her eyes on the paper in front of her, “at least we’re not engineers. You should hear the way Jordy complains. It’s all, ‘but we need time to eat lunch!’ and, ‘don’t you know it takes more than ten minutes to walk between those two lecture halls?’ and, ‘I get so few breaks my brain has officially liquifed!’ with him.”

“What are you planning to work on tonight, Eragon?” asked Murtagh.

“What am I working on?” Eragon scoffed. “Are you insane? I’m way too tired to get anything done! And I already stayed up super late last night so I could study for today’s quiz. And let’s not forget about last week’s essay fiasco.” Eragon shook his head. “I can’t keep this up.”

“Don’t you have that assignment due Friday?” Murtagh responded. “Today’s Wednesday, you can’t afford to throw your evening away. Just get yourself one of your energy drinks – or maybe don’t, you might already be an addict – and get started.”

“What? No,” Eragon replied, “that’s due next Friday. There’s plenty of time between now and then.”

“If you say so,” responded Murtagh.

“You know,” interjected Arya, “I think we’re actually ahead of schedule here. I know we’d booked this entire evening for PoliSci, but we might not actually need it. What do you think?”

Murtagh and Nasuada shrugged.

“Well,” Arya continued, “I think Eragon has a point here. Rest is important, and so long as school is happening, there’ll always be something for us to work on. Why not take the evening off and recharge?”

“Fair point,” conceded Nasuada.

“Sounds like a plan,” said Murtagh.

“Excellent.” Arya turned to Eragon. “What do you say we hang out tonight, maybe watch a movie or something? I’ll admit, Eragon, you did look pretty out of it in Psych today. We don’t have to do anything too intensive.”

“Yeah,” agreed Eragon. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“I’d best be going, then, I think,” said Nasuada. “Even if I’m done with PoliSci, I’ve got plenty left on my to-do list tonight.” Packing her things, she added, “I’ll be across the hall if you need me. Have fun!”

Done with their work for the evening, Arya and Murtagh packed their study materials and cleaned the table. After a few minutes, the three roommates reconvened.

“So, Eragon,” inquired Arya, “it’s your night off. Do you know what you’d like to do?”

Eragon thought for a moment. He had felt over the past few weeks that there was something missing – nothing overly significant, surely, as he couldn’t quite seem to pin it down – and he didn’t know what to do. He knew how he would start troubleshooting if he were at home, but he wasn’t at home, and while he had gotten to know his roommates reasonably well, he still didn’t want to overstep. He could easily break the small bond they had formed thus far.

Eragon took a deep breath. He had to take the risk. “Um… Not to be weird or anything, but would you guys mind if we just sorta… sat together? And talked?”

His question was met with silence. Arya and Murtagh looked at each other. After a long moment, Murtagh answered, “Sure – what’s the issue? We don’t mean to be causing you problems.”

“Oh!” Eragon felt himself scrambling. “It’s not an issue with you guys or anything, you’re totally fine, I’d just like to talk about… life, I guess. What things were like before we got here. Something about being here is starting to feel a bit off, I think – again, it’s not anything you’re doing, I swear – and I don’t really know what to make of the situation. I mean—” Eragon sighed, “—if you’d rather not do that, that’s totally okay, I get it, but I thought I’d ask anyway.”

Eragon’s roommates relaxed a little, relieved they weren’t causing any significant problems. “All right,” said Murtagh, “That should be fine with me. Arya?”

“Sounds good,” agreed Arya. “How about we sit down?”

On his way to his chair, Eragon took the time to flip the light switch, so the seating area was darkened. When everyone had settled in, Eragon began the conversation. “I suppose I’ll start. My family and I, we have a little tradition when we sit down to talk about feelings and stuff, to help break the ice and get the conversation going. We like to have everyone give everyone else a compliment before we start. Just, you know, describing something you appreciate, or admire, or a new thing you’ve noticed, or something like that. We sometimes turn the lights off like I’ve done here so it’s less intimidating to talk directly. Are you okay with doing something like that?”

Arya and Murtagh looked at each other, clearly hesitating.

Sensing their answer, Eragon adjusted his plan. “You don’t have to. I know it’s a lot to ask for out of the blue. Would it be okay if only I did the compliments? You wouldn’t have to do anything, but I think that might still be enough to break the ice. But if you’re uncomfortable with that, we don’t have to do it.”

Arya and Murtagh nodded in confirmation. “I can work with that,” said Arya.

“Great.” Eragon stopped to consider what his compliments should be. “Arya, I think it’s really neat how you have all of these different teas – they all smell fantastic, by the way – and you have a specific sort of occasion for each of them. Like, in my experience, ‘I want an energy drink’ is practically its own mood, but for you, any mood you might have has a tea to go with it. I haven’t seen anyone do that before, and I think it’s really cool!” Eragon turned to Murtagh. “Murtagh, I’ve seen you with your sketchbook a few times, and it’s seriously amazing! I’ve never met anyone who could draw like that, and I have no idea how you do it. Not to mention how fast you are! Honestly, it boggles my mind at little. How do you choose what to draw?”

“Um…” Murtagh replied awkwardly, “it’s just a sort of venting habit, I guess. I had lessons when I was little, and I’ve just kept in practice. It’s usually therapeutic.”

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“It’s fine, it’s hardly some big secret.” Murtagh stopped and considered for a moment. “It’s probably for the best. I generally try to keep things like that behind closed doors, but I guess if it’s already out in the open, I don’t need to be quite so careful.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad,” said Eragon. Returning to his own ponderings, his face fell. “Do you mind if I just talk for a bit?”

Given the go-ahead, Eragon went on to discuss the changes he had noticed in his life since school had begun. “I guess it’s weird, living on my own. Like, I know I’m not alone, I don’t feel alone at all, but I’m in charge of myself now, right? I’m used to not having my parents around, they leave for work assignments all the time, but even then, there’s always been my uncle and my cousin. We would always be together as one big, rowdy family. And the thing is, I’ve got that here. We sit more people around the dinner table here than we have chairs all the time. And on the one hand, I’m really enjoying it, but on the other… something about the difference is getting to me.” Eragon shook his head, trying to think. “I don’t know. I guess I miss the way things were, but whenever I think about it, nothing’s missing. It’s odd.”

There was a long, pensive silence. Eventually, Eragon spoke again. “What was it like with your families?” he asked, quietly.

Arya responded first. “How much do you want to know?”

“As much as you want to tell.”

“All right, then,” said Arya. “It was just me at home with my parents. I don’t have any siblings, and we didn’t have any extended family living anywhere nearby, so it was only ever just the three of us. I really love my Dad – we get along really well – but he’s super busy with work all the time, so it was mostly just my Mom and I, and, well… we have a tendency to clash, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Arya sighed. “Like, I guess she was trying to do all of the right motherly things, but she didn’t care one bit about what I had to say about it. She kept me so, so busy…

“In high school, I finally convinced her to let me do a sport that I got to choose. I joined the relay squad along with two of my friends, and we were great. We won all sorts of competitions, including the Mountain View Invitational, every year. But then this spring, when we went to the Mountain View track meet, we ran into the Shade – you know, the kidnapper – and I mean, what the hell kind of luck is this? He got the jump on us, and both of my friends got really hurt. I wound up alright in the end, but we only got out at all because one of Capital’s archery kids happened to find us, and he pulled some crazy stunt and straight-up shot the guy – it was a crazy shot, too, but his aim was impeccable – instead of reporting the problem to some event official like he was supposed to.

“And when my Mom heard about what happened at the meet, what did she do? She was worried out of her mind until the danger was over, at which point I was immediately mega-grounded. She barely let me visit my teammates in the hospital, even after they caught the guy, and she even cut me off from as much Shade-related information as she could. I never even managed to get the name of the archer from Capital. It was the biggest I-told-you-so move she’s ever pulled! I had to fight tooth and nail to even get her to let me attend the university program that I had already paid my fees for, and you know as well as I do that I’m on paper-thin ice out here. One false move, and she’ll find some excuse to drag me back.” As if resigned to an inevitable outcome, Arya added, “I mean, it’s her vote against mine. I’m never going to win that.”

With Arya’s story concluded, silence fell once again.

“Wow,” said Eragon. “That’s a real situation you’ve got there.”

“Like, I know all of this is for so-called motherly love and all that, but at this point, she’s just doing it wrong. We’ve had plenty of good times, but I’m finding it really hard to care about that, especially after her reaction to the track meet. It’s like she thinks it’s my fault!”

“And you’re sure your archery friend was from Capital?” asked Eragon.

“Well, yeah. I didn’t really get a good look at his face in all the commotion, but the uniform colours correspond to Capital, and so do the arrows the police recovered as evidence,” Arya answered.

“Huh,” said Eragon. “Hey, Murtagh, didn’t you do archery for the Capital team? Do you know anything about this? You’re being awfully quiet over there.”

Murtagh stared at him tiredly – Eragon supposed he had forgotten something obvious, again. Murtagh said, “Hey, Eragon, do you remember that story I told about the time I got kicked out of the league?”

“Ohhhhh…” groaned Eragon, putting his head in his hands. He had missed something after all.

“I guess,” continued Murtagh, “if we’re already this far in… Arya, I think you were out – at orientation, I believe – when this topic came up, if you’re wondering why you haven’t heard. But I talked briefly about how I got kicked out of the archery league for shooting someone, and how this was actually a surprising outcome, all things considered. You’ve already got most of the details. I was wandering around some old concrete hallway, and I happened across a group of runners from Pinewood clearly being attacked by some guy who was clearly the Shade. I thought about what to do, and decided the least stupid course of action would be to fend off the attacker by gifting him a few arrows. I did that, helped drag the injured kids back to civilization, and got out of there. I didn’t catch their names, and I don’t really remember their faces.” He turned to face Arya. “That was you?”

After a pause, Arya answered quietly, “Yeah, it was.” Neither she not Murtagh seemed to know what to do with this information. “Uh. Thanks, I guess. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you three made it out okay.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“Yikes,” said Eragon, “That’s… That’s one hell of a coincidence. I guess we all had something to do with the Shade. Of all the things— This is bizarre. I would even say it’s hilarious, but I’m not sure that’s really the best word…”

Murtagh let out a small laugh. “Yeah,” he said, “maybe not.” He adjusted his posture in his chair. “You said you wanted to know about family situations, right, Eragon?”

“Uh, yeah, did you want to share?”

“I might as well. I mean, you two already have, so it wouldn’t really be fair if I didn’t, right?”

“Well, sure, I guess, but we’re not here to pressure you. There’s no need to expose anything you’d rather not discuss.”

Murtagh scoffed. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

Eragon realized that Murtagh had perhaps wanted to avoid discussing such things as sketchbooks and archery heroics. “Right. Sorry about that, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine.”

Eragon wasn’t quite convinced, but he decided to leave the issue alone. There was no point in arguing over something like this.

“So,” asked Arya, “what were things like for you?”

“I don’t know that there’s all that much to talk about,” replied Murtagh. “I’ve spent most of my life living with my uncle. We aren’t actually related by blood – thank decency – but he was a close friend of my father’s. I never knew my mother, and my father was the leader of some crime ring or other, and he was arrested when I was really young. My uncle was his lawyer, but not even he could keep the guy out of jail. The detectives who brought him in were very thorough. I seem to recall hearing something about them having been friends with him once upon a time, but I don’t know… I’m not convinced he became that rotten of a person that late into his life. But I guess I never knew him well enough to say.

“So once Dear Old Dad was gone, I started living with my uncle. ‘With’ might be a bit of an overstatement here, seeing as he was barely home, and whenever I came to him with a problem, his solution was to throw money at it – for example, ‘Need me to take you places? Here, buy yourself a motorbike’ – which is… not what parenting is. I got lucky, though – one of our neighbours, and old army veteran, noticed that a small child was frequently unattended in the house and decided to look after me himself. Honestly, I owe the guy everything. My uncle wasn’t too pleased, but he got over it after a while.

“Now, my uncle isn’t exactly the most stable person. We’ve had our ups and downs, but things really took a turn when I got close to graduation. He suddenly started ranting about how I had to join ‘the family business’ – whatever that’s supposed to be – and claiming he had some sort of ownership over my decisions. We eventually managed to agree on the arrangement that got me here: if I get my degree, he’ll leave me alone. We had the agreement written, notarized, and officially signed in triplicate. He won’t be undercutting me that easily.”

There was a long silence.

“Yikes,” said Arya.

“That—” Eragon started, “that’s your family situation?”

“Yeah,” replied Murtagh, “but like I said, my neighbour was an absolute godsend. None of the people who legally qualify as my parents measure up to him. I’m honestly a little worried – he’s still living next door to my uncle, and I just know that man’s plotting something, he always is – but he knows how to take care of himself.” Murtagh sighed. “It’s really weird not having him around, though.”

“Yeah,” agreed Eragon, “I wish I could see my family, too.”

“Maybe you could ask your family to come visit you the next time you call them,” suggested Murtagh.

Eragon looked at him blankly.

“You—” Murtagh ventured, “you do call your family, right?”

“Do you?”

“Yes!” Murtagh exclaimed, exasperation filling his voice. “Well, maybe not my family, exactly, but I call my neighbour, and that’s—" Murtagh sighed. “I’ll tell you what. How about you go call your family, right now, and Arya and I could set up a movie for the three of us to watch when you’re done?”

“Will there be cuddling during the movie? I love cuddling.”

“Well,” replied Arya, “we’re probably going to want to share one couch for this, so there might not be any way around it.”

Eragon’s face lit up. “And you guys are cool with—”

“Just go make your call already!” interrupted Murtagh. “We’ll be here when you’re done.”


	5. Inspection

Eragon awoke to the sound of clanging dishes and scuffling feet in the kitchen. He looked at his clock. It was far too early on a Saturday for anything to be happening. Straining his ears, Eragon heard Arya’s voice, muffled by his door. From her tone, he could tell that something was wrong. Groaning, Eragon rolled out of bed to begin his investigation.

He found Arya sitting on one of the couches with her head in her hands. She was staring blearily forward, muttering to herself.

“G’mornin’,” slurred Eragon, “What’s up?”

At the sound of his voice, Arya’s eyes snapped to Eragon. “My Mom’s coming for her monthly ‘visit’ today, remember?”

“Oh, right.” Eragon looked around. The kitchen was tidy, the table had been washed, and the shoes by the door were arranged more neatly than he had thought possible. “The place looks great. What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter?” Arya’s eyes regained some of their focus. “Really? What’s the matter?” She gestured energetically at a spot on the floor, near the table. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s the charred crater under the table!”

The previous week, there had been a dinner gathering with the folks from Suite 308, as well as Orik. Eragon and Orik had studied together for their upcoming midterm, Murtagh and Nasuada were all but arguing over the latest reading from their shared philosophy course, and Jörmundur was teaching Orrin and Arya the secrets to one of his favourite recipes. The evening was fun and productive – a triumphant combination – but things ground to a halt when Orrin had, for some unfathomable reason, placed a pot of boiling-hot stew directly onto the floor, immediately resulting in burnt flooring.

They had reported the incident promptly to the thoroughly unconcerned residence management, and were told that this sort of thing “happens all the time”, that “it builds character”, and that they should absolutely “not worry about it”. They were assured that nobody would be fined and that the problem didn’t need fixing. In fairness, there didn’t appear to be any functional change – the damage was extremely visible, sure, but the shape of the terrain was unchanged, and the even the texture of the flooring had somehow been preserved. Eragon had half-expected the floor to grow a scab and heal itself. All in all, there was nothing to worry about – but Arya’s mother wouldn’t see it that way.

“Come on,” ventured Eragon, “it’s hardly that bad…”

Arya scoffed. “As if that matters.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, thinking.

“So,” started Eragon, “what are we going to do about it?”

“Do you seriously think that this is how I would be spending my time right now if I knew the answer to that?” Arya sighed. “The one thing we know is that we can’t fix the problem.”

“Fair point,” conceded Eragon, embarrassed at his failed attempt at helpfulness. “Maybe someone else would have some ideas?”

“We still can’t fix it.”

“Well, sure, but there might be a way around the problem.” Eragon smiled. “That might work if we can’t find a direct way through it.”

“Fine,” grumbled Arya. “Should I go bother Murtagh, or should you?”

Eragon chuckled. “I’ll handle it. Is there something else you can start on, or is the firepit the last thing on your list?”

“Well,” replied Arya, “it’s the last thing on the list, but I should look over my room again.” She got up and headed down the hallway. “There’s always something out of place…”

Eragon yawned, stretched, and followed her down the hallway. He stopped at Murtagh’s door, number two, which was sitting open. The light was on, too, and Eragon guessed that it had been on through the whole night. Murtagh was sitting in the desk chair, asleep with his head on the desk, while Nasuada was positioned similarly, if a little more comfortably, on the bed. After a cursory glance at the assortment of textbooks and note papers scattered around the room, Eragon figured they must have put a lot of work into their philosophy homework the previous night.

Eragon stepped into the room and shook Murtagh by the shoulder.

“What?” groaned Murtagh, drowsily swatting away Eragon’s hand. “Paper’s due this week. ‘M’busy.”

“Look,” said Eragon, “I can see you’re hard at work in here, but there’s a problem. I need your help.” He paused, reconsidering. “Arya,” he corrected, “Arya needs your help.”

“Ugh.” Murtagh shifted in his seat and cracked one eye open. “What is it?”

“Arya’s mom is coming to visit today.”

“Oh. You can just close the door, it’s fine—”

“It’s not that she won’t want to know you exist, it’s that she’s not going to like the nice, big burn mark in the middle of the kitchen floor. Neither Arya nor I can figure out what to do, but we know we need to do something. Can you sort something out?”

Murtagh sighed heavily, but began to move. “Sure. I’ll figure it out.” He stretched. “Might need your help, too, though.”

“I’ll go put on some coffee.”

“You’d better.”

Murtagh had a way of solving problems. It didn’t matter what was happening; if it needed doing, Murtagh got it done. But the solutions he found weren’t always all that conventional. Eragon had learned many weeks ago that sometimes it was best to just trust that these plans would come together, even if he didn’t understand the relevance of the role he was asked to play.

After settling down on one of the sofas, Murtagh spent fifteen minutes staring at the offending patch of floor, the kitchen table, and the dishrack beside the sink. Then, all at once, Murtagh began setting his plan into motion. He got to his feet, took a deep breath, and gave Eragon the first instruction of the plan: to make waffles, and lots of them.

“What?” asked Eragon, blankly. “Why?”

“Just do it,” Murtagh answered, flatly.

“But the kitchen is spotless! Arya worked really hard to get it this clean, we shouldn’t ruin it.”

Murtagh walked over to the cupboards, seemingly unconcerned. “Maybe not, but her mom can’t complain about the state of the kitchen if it’s in use.” He pulled five clean mugs from the cupboard, ran them under the faucet, and positioned them haphazardly in the drying rack, filling the previously empty space. “She’ll be here soon, right?”

“Uh…” Confused by what he was seeing, Eragon’s reply came slowly. “Sometime in the next hour, I think.”

“Perfect. Oh, and in case you went and got that extra waffle iron you wanted, make sure you only use one. Efficiency is to be avoided. This setup needs to last.”

“Um… yeah. Sure.”

Eragon watched from the kitchen as Murtagh returned to his room, re-emerging a minute later with a great stack of textbooks, which he placed on the floor next to the sofas. They were soon joined by a collection of binders and notebooks. Eragon saw Nasuada shuffle sleepily back to her own home across the hall, only to come back a few minutes later with her two roommates. Nasuada’s arms were full of blankets, Orrin was carrying a staggering number of pillows and cushions, and Jörmundur had brought some of his fanciest drink-brewing equipment.

As Jörmundur began occupying the remaining kitchen space, the other side of the room underwent something of a transformation. The kitchen table was shuffled carefully off to the side, its chairs neatly stationed against the wall next to it, and the floor became a sprawling nest of blankets and pillows. Before long, everyone’s textbooks and course notes were positioned haphazardly amongst the blankets – and not a moment too soon.

There came a knock at the door.

Eragon went to answer it. The waffle iron was just warming up – it could wait. He opened the door to find Arya’s mother, as promised, disdainfully meeting his eyes.

“Ah. Good morning, Eragon,” she said. “Is Arya around?”

“Erm…” stumbled Eragon, “Yes, of course. Just a moment.”

When Eragon returned with Arya, she stopped in her tracks, staring in horror at the commotion in the common area. She proceeded stiffly down the hallway, slowly approaching her doom. Reaching the door, she turned to her mother, took a deep breath, and prepared to speak.

Her mother cut her off. “What do you think you’re doing here? Look at this mess! This is preposterous—”

But she was cut off in turn by the arrival of Orik, who wormed his way past her into the apartment’s entrance. “Good morning, everybody! I hope I’m not too late for the study brunch.” He held up the plastic bags he was carrying. “In my defense, I brought snacks.”

Murtagh walked over to greet him, coffee in hand. “Orik! I’m glad you could make it! You’re right on time, Eragon here was just warming up the waffle iron. Go ahead and find yourself a spot in the study nest, we’ll be over there with you in just a minute.” He turned to Arya, greeting her with a smile. “Hey! Happy Saturday. Eragon and I went and set up a little study event with the squad. I know you can be a little iffy on surprises, but I thought you’d enjoy this one since it’s the same amount of studying as what you do in the morning every Saturday, only with more food, more friends, and more blankets.” He turned, slower, to face Arya’s mother. “I’m sorry, did I pick the wrong day?”

“You may have, yes,” she confirmed. Peering into the common area, displeased by the crowd gathered there, she added, “If you’re all this busy, it would be best if Arya and I would have our discussion elsewhere.”

Following the older woman’s gaze, Eragon realized that the burn on the floor – and everything around it – was completely buried under the blanket nest and its occupants. Understanding began to dawn on him.

“Right,” said Murtagh, sheepishly, “I’m sorry. Just one more thing—” he turned back to Arya “—Nas and I wanted to get a start on prepping our study materials for the PoliSci midterm. We were hoping to get your help – we thought it’d be for the best if the three of us worked together on these, you know, to make sure none of us miss anything. I know the midterm’s almost two whole weeks from now, but we really want to be ready early.” Murtagh stared at the clock for a few seconds. He sighed, perhaps a little dramatically. “If you really need the time, we could probably push back the bits we’d need you for until… I don’t know, noonish? Do you think you could be back by then?”

Arya took a breath and started to answer, but was interrupted once again.

“Oh,” Murtagh interjected, “and before I forget – have you tried any of Jordy’s ridiculously fancy brewed tea? If it’s anything like his coffee—” he held up his mug to illustrate “—then, trust me, you need to.” Taking a sip from his coffee, he added, “Sorry for the interruption. I’m done now, I promise.”

Arya’s mother turned to address her daughter. “It sounds like you have a lot to do today.”  
Arya avoided her gaze. “Well, I do, but I’ve budgeted my time – rather generously, too – and I’m sure I have enough to—”

“Having time isn’t worth very much if you can’t use it.” Arya’s mother sighed, pinching her nose. “If you have this much to do, we can just catch up quickly in the hallway. I don’t want to stop you from working. You shouldn’t disappoint your classmates.”

With that, the mother pulled her daughter into the hall and shut the door behind them.

Three minutes later, Arya walked back in, closed the door behind her, and breathed deeply. After a long moment, she looked at her friends in the common area. “I don’t know what the hell just happened, but you did it.” She turned, addressing her roommates directly. “Thank you so much, Eragon. And Murtagh – you’ve worked your magic again, haven’t you?” She grinned.

Once Arya found a comfortable nook in the study nest and got herself all settled in, she became the proud recipient of a mug of Jörmundur’s best tea, accompanied by the first waffle of the day.


End file.
